


Maybe Someday

by ineffable-snowman (schneemann)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Have Their Picnic (Good Omens), Communication Failure, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, Other, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining, Post-Canon, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22602649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneemann/pseuds/ineffable-snowman
Summary: Aziraphale decides it's up to him to go faster.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 109





	Maybe Someday

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @tickety-boo-af, who has been a super nice and helpful beta reader!

One Saturday afternoon, Aziraphale miracled the buttons of his vest a shade darker. Normally, he was against using miracles on clothes because he believed in tailors but it was only a minor change and it was meant as a symbol. Because he had a plan.

As far as Aziraphale knew, most humans put a lot of effort into their corporation to look nice for their, well, _date_. (There really was no way to still call this a “meeting” when neither Aziraphale nor Crowley had a job anymore.) Humans did it to give the other person something pleasant to look at, as Aziraphale understood. He was glad Crowley did not follow Hell’s fashion choices because he was not ready to put dirt or even worse on his face. There was no doubt what Crowley liked: black and tight-fitting clothes. But Aziraphale didn’t own any black clothes and he was pretty sure that trousers like Crowley’s would just look ridiculous on him.

Searching through his bookshop, he found some clothes from the last two centuries in a wooden chest squeezed under several books. After he had encouraged the moths and spiders to leave, he scrutinised the clothes. Most of them had moth holes and smelled a bit. But nothing a thorough miracle wouldn’t fix. He had liked the hats in the Victorian Age. But maybe not the best memories for Crowley. What about that cravat from the Sixties? Fashion had been crazy then and even Aziraphale had decided to purchase something new. But mostly he had tried to give Crowley a reason to live – because then Aziraphale had still worried that Crowley wanted to use the holy water on himself. It had been utterly frightening to find the fine balance between promising Crowley something more (but at the same time not promising too much and not too obviously) and stopping him from getting himself into even more danger.

But that was over now. And the cravat had looked a bit dashing, hadn’t it? It would be quite fitting to wear this again when Aziraphale wanted to take the next step in their Arrangement…or was it a Relationship now? He felt that it should be, but it was not, not really. Aziraphale knew what a romantic relationship looked like, he had read enough books. And the things that, according to human literature, were supposed to happen had not happened between him and Crowley.

Aziraphale had cautiously placed his hand on the table between them when they were dining at the Ritz. Crowley had not taken it. Aziraphale had lingered after Crowley had dropped him off at the bookshop and accompanied him to the door. Crowley had not kissed him goodnight.

After a few weeks of nothing happening, Aziraphale had had the sneaking suspicion that Crowley held back because of _him_. Maybe Crowley was trying to take things slow because he did not want to scare Aziraphale off like the last time when Aziraphale had told him that he went too fast. Aziraphale had always felt deep regret whenever he had had to stop Crowley from doing something dangerous. It had not seemed fair to stop someone from _loving_ , of all things.

He told himself that he should be happy, and what if they were taking things slow? They had all of eternity. But there was still this nagging feeling that Crowley was holding back. It didn’t seem right after everything that had happened. Maybe it was now Aziraphale’s turn to move things forward. To grant Crowley permission. To show him that there was nothing to fear, that Aziraphale would not reject his love, ever again.

How to do it? It certainly was not Aziraphale’s strongest suit. But he had read enough to get an idea about…flirting? Courting? Dating? The words seemed terribly frivolous but then most humans would consider getting dinner together at expensive restaurants a date. So they were already doing it. Now it was up to Aziraphale to “spice things up.” Tastefully, of course.

And that is how his beloved vest ended up with miracled buttons.

When they had their next dinner date (Aziraphale had read a promising review in the newspaper about a fancy new French restaurant), he miracled the cravat clean and tied it carefully. He fretted a bit with his shirt and could not decide: Was it indecent to leave the top button open? He did not know that restaurant yet. What if they expected a certain dress code? What would Crowley think if he – well, no, Crowley certainly did not mind showing a bit of skin if his own clothing decisions were anything to go by.

Aziraphale left that button decision for later and focused on his hair first. He had decided to use a tiny bit of product to make his curls less frizzy and more defined as his barber had always suggested he do but so far Aziraphale had never seen the purpose of that. He had just finished his very careful application when he heard the familiar honk of the Bentley.

“Dear Lord, is it already time?” Aziraphale glanced at the cuckoo clock. Crowley was fashionably late as always. Aziraphale grabbed his coat, opened the top button in a desperate last minute decision and hurried outside.

Crowley was casually leaning against the Bentley, as he always did. He gave Aziraphale an intent look.

Aziraphale’s heart hammered, not only from the physical exertion. “Running a bit late,” he said with a quick nervous look to make sure no one was staring at his new outfit. He felt terribly exposed. “Please don’t make up for it by exceeding the speed limit more than is strictly necessary.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Let’s go?”

Crowley went 70mph, which Aziraphale took as a sign of goodwill on his part.

After ten minutes of silence, during which Aziraphale had to force his nervous hands down to keep them from closing the opened button, Crowley eventually asked, “What happened to your bowtie?”

“Oh, er, I thought it-it would be nice t-to try something new once in a while.”

Crowley gave him a sidelong glance. “That cravat is hardly new, is it?”

Oh, so he noticed! Aziraphale was not sure if that frightened or elated him. Somehow it was both at the same time.

The Bentley’s tyres skidded on the pavement, the car slid for some meters and Crowley hurled a very rude word at the street.

“Well, not everyone acquires new clothes every decade,” Aziraphale said reproachfully, gripping the door handle very tightly.

Fortunately they arrived at the restaurant without discorporating. Aziraphale kept nervously touching his cravat upon entering. “You don’t think it’s a bit too, well, _risqué_?” he said under his breath.

Crowley smirked. “We’ll see if they throw you out when they see you.”

“Oh, don’t mock me, you old serpent.” But it oddly helped calm his nerves.

No one threw him out and no one gave him funny glances for his attire. No one but Crowley. Now that they weren’t in the car anymore but seated opposite each other at the small table, Crowley looked at him all the time. _Let him stare_ , Aziraphale told himself. _I dressed up for him to look at me. He deserves this. No hiding anymore_. It was exhilarating and frightening, Aziraphale’s breath was a bit quicker than usual and he was certain that Crowley noticed. But Crowley didn’t mention it. In fact, he was unusually silent. They did some weird small talk about the weather, about the menu and the wine… which Aziraphale almost spilled. Well, he did actually knock over his glass with his shaking hand but, with a quick-witted miracle, he saved the tablecloth and himself the embarrassment. Crowley noticed, of course, but he didn’t comment, just raised his brows.

Once they had their food, things went a bit smoother. The food was excellent and it made conversation easier. Aziraphale’s main dish, wild pheasant in mushroom and wine sauce, turned out to be a perfect choice, and Crowley let him try (and then offered him the bigger part of) his wonderfully glazed potatoes.

Again, Crowley did not take his hand when he placed it on the table after they had finished dessert.

When they left the restaurant, Aziraphale decided to be brave. “Could you give me a lift?” he asked, purposefully repeating the words from 1967.

Crowley stopped and turned to him. “’Course. What else would I do with -” He indicated first Aziraphale, then the Bentley. “Kidnap you?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind,” Aziraphale said lightly.

Crowley’s brows climbed up into his hairline. “How _on earth_ am I supposed to take that?”

“Er. Probably with the knowledge that the wine has been a bit on the stronger side. Oh dear.”

“Right.” Crowley climbed into the car and waited for Aziraphale to follow. “So. Where do you want me to _give you a lift_ to?”

Aziraphale briefly considered the notion of replying with something dramatic like, “To the stars,” but he had said and done enough foolish things for today. But then he couldn’t just say, “Back to the bookshop,” either, could he? He racked his brain. What to do at night in London?

“I was wondering, have you ever been on the London Eye?”

“Sure. ‘S nice. But I thought you hated it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You did. In a very polite but scathing way.”

“Well. I thought I could give it a try. If you were amenable, that is.”

Crowley shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He sobered up to drive them there.

Usually the London Eye closed at 20:30 but they were miraculously lucky that there was still a lovely young lady who was busy with cleanup. She agreed to let them into the VIP pod and turned the wheel on to move again. Aziraphale tipped and blessed her generously.

It was true, he had been reluctant when the London Eye had been installed, especially when he had heard that Crowley had somehow been involved. Tourist trap, disfigurement of the skyline etc. But once they were up in the air, he had to admit that the view was splendid.

“Marvellous what these humans come up with,” he said upon looking at the thousands and thousands of lights of the city below. They had seen how a small village had turned into a dirty industrial town, then a majestic imperial city, then a tourist destination. They knew all the buildings (and had met most of their builders).

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed softly. “Glad they’re still here. Would be a bit boring otherwise.”

Aziraphale turned away from the city lights to smile at Crowley. He had taken his glasses off to better enjoy the view and was leaning against the glass. At this moment Aziraphale felt like his heart could burst with love. For the world, the stars, the humans, and for this wonderful demon who had been here with him through everything.

“Yes. I am glad, too.”

For some reason the observation wheel took them on two more rounds.

“Funny, I only convinced it to go one more round,” Crowley remarked.

“Goodness. So did I.”

They exchanged a quick glance and a smile and then they enjoyed the view and each other’s company. During the next round they reminisced about the people, events and buildings they had seen during the last centuries. There had been fires, diseases, two wars, and yet nothing had ever stopped the humans from rebuilding and making things better again.

During the third round they had a heated argument about architecture. Crowley seriously argued that that horrible Gherkin was an enhancement of the city but St. Paul’s Cathedral was “not very inventive” when he _knew_ Aziraphale had had a bit of a hand in it!

The last ten minutes they spent in companionable silence sitting very close to each other.

When Crowley dropped him off at the bookshop he wished Aziraphale a good night but still didn’t kiss him.

“Crowley, wait!” Aziraphale said urgently just before Crowley could get into the car and leave.

Crowley stopped dead and turned abruptly. “Yeah?”

“I-I-I just wanted to say.” His human heart was beating erratically again. “I really had a lovely evening. Thank you very much.” He smiled tremulously.

“It’s not like I personally caught your pheasant and cooked it.”

“No, thank goodness you didn’t.” They had never got the hang of preparing human food. Although Aziraphale had become quite experienced with tea during the years and had, once, succeeded at semi decent biscuits. “But, I believe you had a hand in the creation of the London Eye. Which was rather, er, nice.”

“Eh, I was mostly responsible for the pricing and marketing. The rest was all the humans.”

“Still. It was a lovely evening.”

Crowley made a sort of agreeing noise. “You, I mean, the – it suits, um, you – look good.”

Before Aziraphale could say anything, the car doors banged shut, the engine whined and the Bentley raced away, leaving him standing in front of his bookshop, lost for words but smiling giddily.

*

So the dressing up bit had been a success. Aziraphale decided to repeat it. He grew a bit more comfortable with the opened button, and asked his barber for recommendations for the best hair product. He even gave his wings a very thorough preening. One could never know what would happen.

He found that he liked dressing up for Crowley. He always felt nervous anticipation as he got ready before Crowley arrived to pick him up. That was probably what all those romance novels meant with “butterflies in one’s stomach” (which Aziraphale thought was a rather disgusting image).

He also liked it when Crowley looked at him for longer than strictly necessary although it made his insides churn at the same time. Funny, these inconsistent emotions.

Still, Crowley did not kiss him. Although his glances were so intent they almost felt physical, he had not even once touched Aziraphale purposefully. Every time they met, Aziraphale expected it to happen and was nervous and excited. Every time it did not happen, he was both relieved and disappointed. But most of all he was worried. He didn’t want Crowley to think that he wasn’t allowed. He didn’t want him to doubt Aziraphale’s love for him.

So Aziraphale did the bravest thing he had ever done, something that took even more courage than disobeying God Herself by giving the humans a flaming sword, or marching into Hell in Crowley’s body. When Crowley dropped him off this night at the bookshop, Aziraphale did not leave the car but turned to face Crowley.

“You can kiss me, you know,” he said in a very small voice. “If – if you wanted to, that is,” he added quickly. He did not want to presume anything.

“If I – _what_?!” Crowley’s mouth hung open.

Aziraphale expected hellfire or the holy army of angels to rain down on them but nothing whatsoever happened. It was very quiet in the car. He could feel his chest lift and fall quickly and he kept looking at Crowley, who was still gaping at him.

“What about you?” Crowley said eventually, still not looking away.

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice came out high pitched.

“Do you?”

“I’m afraid you will have to elaborate, my dear.”

Crowley finally turned away and spoke determinedly to the front window. “Do you. Want me. To… kiss you?”

“I…” Aziraphale trailed off. This was not going according to plan. And he did not have an answer to that question. Did he want Crowley to kiss him? He supposed he must. This sort of thing was supposed to happen, right? All the humans liked it, all the poets had sung its praises, so it must be good. “I-I-I wouldn’t mind,” he finally allowed.

“Right.” Crowley was still staring straight ahead. His fingers were drumming an erratic rhythm on the steering wheel. “Get out of the car!” he suddenly snapped.

Aziraphale winced in shock at the harsh tone. “I-I-I’m terribly sorry if I have overstepped any boundaries,” he was quick to apologise. “It seems I have not read the situation correctly.”

“I _said_ ,” Crowley reiterated and his voice was dark and faintly demonic, “get out of the car.”

“Crowley, please let me -”

“No.”

The door on Aziraphale’s side flew open. He gingerly stepped outside. “Well,” he said helplessly, hovering next to the car, wringing his hands, “have a lovely evening.”

*

Aziraphale spent the next few days brooding over how everything could have gone so terribly wrong so suddenly. They had had a perfectly fine dinner at his favourite Italian restaurant. Crowley had kept looking and sometimes even smiling at him and had offered him his tiramisu. They had reminisced about their time in Rome, and Crowley had good-naturedly mocked him (at least it had seemed good-naturedly at that time) for having tempted him with oysters.

So what had changed?

What was so horrible about the idea of a kiss?

Aziraphale had been so sure that Crowley loved him. Could he have been wrong? So maybe he did not love Aziraphale in the sense that he wanted to kiss him but was that a reason to be so offended and reject Aziraphale so rudely? Yes, it had hurt. And even worse was that he had not heard from Crowley since then. Since the averted Apocalypse they had hardly spent a week without seeing each other or at least speaking on the telephone. But no sign from Crowley for several days now.

His other idea was that it was Crowley’s usual offence when being called nice or any such thing that was not appropriate for a demon. But he had seemed free at last from those hellish expectations – or at least more relaxed (no one knew better than Aziraphale that you couldn’t just change 6000 year old habits), because there had been no more angry outbursts or even wall-slamming when Aziraphale had complimented him but he had only rolled his eyes, like he had needed to at least keep up appearances. Was insinuating that he _loved_ just too much?

Whatever the reason, Aziraphale was deeply unhappy with the state of things. Oh, they had had much worse fights before. Aziraphale knew Crowley’s dramatic departures. He knew that Crowley could spend years or even decades sulking. But ultimately he had _always_ come back, often to save Aziraphale’s corporation in an even more dramatic fashion. Yes, it had always been deeply touching (and also a bit exciting, if Aziraphale was entirely honest) and he did not doubt for a second that this time Crowley would come for him if he found himself in a dangerous situation. And yet, he did not want that. He did not want to spend years apart and he did not want Crowley unhappily sulking. No, he had almost lost Crowley in that blasted Apocalypse business, he was not going to let a stupid misunderstanding get in the way now. If Aziraphale had learned anything from reading and watching all the great tragedies of human literature, it was that a lot of these could have been avoided by sensible communication. (He had had a very heated discussion with Will about the ending of “Romeo and Juliet”. Will had unfortunately entirely disregarded Aziraphale’s suggestions for an alternative ending, which had led to the decision to keep his Shakespeare collection incomplete and to the steadfast refusal to ever watch that play again.)

So, communication. Humans did it all the time and they were amazingly successful considering they had such a short time. So he should be able to pull it off, too, with his millennia of experience, right?

He spent a week wondering if he should write Crowley a letter (he composed several drafts), contact him via phone (he dialled the number but always put the earpiece down at the last moment) or go to see him in person (he rehearsed every possible conversation in his head and some out loud).

Once, he thought he saw the Bentley speeding past the bookshop.

It was then that Aziraphale decided to go to see him in person. He did not put on the cravat or use hair product. His hand was shaking when he rang the bell. Crowley did not buzz him in but used the intercom.

“What?” he snapped.

“Er, hello. I – I think we need to talk.”

“Oh?”

“I think there has been a – a misunderstanding and I would really like to apologise and-”

“Right. Come in. Or – let’s go for a walk? Weather’s nice today.”

“I don’t really mind.” As long as they were together and talked this through and agreed to still be friends, Aziraphale was really fine with anything.

“Decide, angel,” Crowley’s voice came impatiently out of the intercom.

“Oh, well, then let’s head to St. James’s. The weather _is_ rather nice, isn’t it?”

Just a few minutes later, Crowley was standing outside, hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but at Aziraphale.

“Thank you for, for agreeing to talk with me,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley just sighed but he followed him to St. James’s anyway, silent and moody and with his hands in his pockets but he was there and willing to listen and that was all that mattered for now.

Aziraphale needed three circuits through the park until he found his courage to start the actual conversation. “It seems there has been a misunderstanding because I misinterpreted certain things. I was operating under the assumption that you were interested in pursuing a…” He faltered. “A… romantic relationship. Romantic relationship in the sense of… a relationship. Not related to the Nineteenth Century, of -”

“I know what a romantic relationship is, for hea- _whatever_.”

“Oh, good. I mean, I’m terribly sorry that I offended you. But I’m afraid I am still not entirely sure if it was the insinuation of a, er, romantic relationship or a, a… Good Lord.” Aziraphale quickly glanced around to make sure that nobody overheard them, and lowered his voice. “A kiss. Or the, the suggestion of your capacity to love.” He cleared his throat. “So, obviously, you can rest assured that I will absolutely never mention the – the things again if any of them bother you. Although I should say that I firmly believe that you _are_ capable of love, even though you may not be interested in a romantic relationship, because there are so many different types of love – I, as an angel, should know–“

“That’s not the point,” Crowley snapped.

“Well, then, pray tell what is the point,” Aziraphale retorted in much the same manner because he was getting a bit impatient. Communication only worked if both partners were willing to be open and honest and he felt like he was doing all the work here and was making a complete fool of himself by stammering and blabbering and talking about things widely out of his comfort zone while Crowley just sulked. “It would be jolly helpful if you could at least tell me what offended you so I can avoid it in the future.” He stopped in his tracks and stood in front of Crowley so he was forced to stop too. “You know, because I would rather like to salvage our friendship.” He relented a bit. “You are too important to me, Crowley,” he implored more softly.

Several complicated emotions flickered over Crowley’s face and Aziraphale regretted that they had not stayed at Crowley’s flat because then he could at least have seen his eyes and maybe understood a bit more. The emotions finally settled on a sneer. “Oh, so we’re friends now?”

“Please don’t be difficult,” Aziraphale admonished.

Crowley finally tore his hands out of his pockets and threw them in the air to gesticulate wildly. “Difficult, now that’s a bit rich! _You_ are difficult, telling me to kiss you and – and talking about _romantic relationships_ out of the blue!” He spat the word ‘romantic’ like it was an insult. Aziraphale felt insulted.

“Right.” He adjusted his bowtie and turned away to…to look at the ducks. “Oh, look, I think I haven’t seen this young swan before. Have you by any chance brought something to feed them?”

At the next moment, Crowley was shoving fruits, frozen peas, three sorts of bread and on top of all that a packet of oat flakes into Aziraphale’s arms.

“Oh. Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale balanced all the hastily miracled food in his arms and started feeding the ducks. He was ever so grateful when the ducks accepted the food that he carefully threw them with trembling hands. If Crowley could not accept what he offered, well, at least the animals were appreciative.

He heard Crowley sighing next to him. “Aziraphale, listen, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “I think I explained it all just now and I _told_ you it was obviously a misunderstanding, so why-”

“Why do you think you have to enter into a, nrhm, _romantic relationship_ with me?”

Aziraphale kept his eyes firmly on the ducks. He was glad he had more than enough food to keep them and himself occupied for a while. “They are not really big on love in Heaven. They say they are, of course, but it’s very different from down here. Over the years you have been very helpful and generous with me, in a way that I was not used to, and I suppose that’s why I mistook your friendship for…love. I don’t want to belittle our friendship by that because it means the world to me and I wouldn’t want to lose it, not for anything.” He felt tears prickling at his eyes. He squatted down to pet one of the older swans that knew him and was therefore trusting enough to let itself be touched. It was only a small comfort. There was a long silence until Crowley cautiously knelt down next to him. The swan startled and fluttered away. Crowley cursed loudly and thus roused even more ducks nearby.

“Sorry -” Crowley stood up hurriedly and took some steps backwards. “Sorry, didn’t mean to…”

Aziraphale turned to him. He looked lost and like he did not know what to do with his long limbs. Aziraphale took a deep breath and stood up. “I’m being silly. Bit emotional. Goodness.” He forced a chuckle. “Don’t mind me, dear.”

“Stop it.” Crowley lifted a hand, made an aborted gesture, let it fall again. “We’re still friends, of course. No need to worry. You don’t have to do anything.”

“Oh, good.” Aziraphale smiled tremulously but gratefully.

“Can I…” Crowley looked doubtful, hesitated. “How about a hot chocolate? Some pastries?”

Aziraphale felt the tears prickling again. Dear God, he was so in love. “That would be lovely.”

“Good,” Crowley said in relief, Aziraphale suggested a café nearby, and when they walked there side by side things felt almost normal again. Almost. Somehow Aziraphale still did not feel like going inside the café and sitting there between all these humans. He felt too vulnerable.

“Can we maybe just go back to the bookshop?” he asked.

“Sure, of course, yeah, why not.” Crowley paid for the chocolate and the pastries and they made their way back.

When they arrived at the bookshop Crowley was oddly hesitant and hovered in front of the door.

“Won’t you come inside?” Aziraphale asked hopefully. “I couldn’t possibly eat all the pastries by myself.”

“Oh, no, it’s good, they’re for you.” Crowley shoved them into Aziraphale’s hands.

“Ah. I see. Thank you. I’m sure they will be wonderful.”

“Yeah, sure, enjoy.” And he was gone.

*

Again Crowley did not seek him out for days. The days turned into weeks and not a word from him. But then one day a plain package was delivered to the bookshop. Attached was a short note in Crowley’s familiar handwriting:

_Got this at an internet auction. Guess this was still missing from your collection? C._

It was an edition of Christine de Pizan’s early poems. There was even a signature. It was a very rare manuscript and a wonderful addition to his collection but the other signature – the “C.” – was so much more important. Still using the abbreviation in case the letter fell into the wrong hands.

Aziraphale rummaged through his bookshop until he found the most beautiful stationery he owned. Then he chose his favourite fountain pen to compose a reply.

_My dear C.,_

_Thank you ever so much for that generous gift! It was such a pleasant surprise when the postman delivered the package this morning. A signed work from Christine de Pizan was indeed missing from my collection. You might remember that I, unfortunately, did not really appreciate Christine’s writing choices during her lifetime and therefore never thought to personally ask her for a signature. I’m all the more looking forward to reading her poems today._

_It seems I sometimes need a bit of time to fully appreciate good things for what they are._

_I was really grateful for the thoughtful gift and was very glad to hear from you again. I hope you are faring well? After spending so much time together during the last years, I find myself missing your company. Please ring me up if you are in the mood to have lunch together or just to meet up and talk._

_Yours_

_Aziraphale_

He made sure to write his full name and hoped Crowley would understand it for the gesture it was.

Maybe he did because just two days later Aziraphale’s phone rang.

“So. I was thinking of going to the Globe tomorrow. Was wondering if you wanted to come, too. They’re putting on a new production of -”

“Yes! Yes, that sounds lovely, I would absolutely love to go – sorry, I interrupted you. What production did you say they were putting on?”

“ _Romeo and Juliet_. Still want to go?”

Aziraphale briefly hesitated. He had vowed never to see that play again. But then, it was not so much about the play but about the company. It certainly would not do to reject Crowley now that he was reaching out again. “Yes, why not?”

“I thought you didn’t like that one.”

“I thought you didn’t like the gloomy ones.”

“Ah. It’s a modern production. They could’ve changed everything, who knows.”

“Well, you know I’m not usually a fan of these modern reinterpretations but it could only improve _Romeo and Juliet_.”

Crowley snorted and just like that everything was easy again. They bickered over modern theatre, discussed Shakespeare’s works and reminisced about the good old times (Crowley especially missed throwing tomatoes and eggs at the stage when the play was bad).

They spent almost an hour on the phone. The only thing that struck Aziraphale as slightly odd was that Crowley did not offer to pick him up but just told Aziraphale to meet him at the Globe tomorrow afternoon at 3pm. It was fine, he told himself. At least they were going to do something together again. Small steps. It would all be fine.

*

They did change a few things about _Romeo and Juliet_ , mainly it was set in modern day England and featured two young humans of opposing religious and political views falling in love. They did not change nearly enough. Aziraphale could not even stomach the pastries and the wine that Crowley brought him during the intermission. He knew it was going to end just as horribly as always and was tensing up more and more during the second part.

“You alright?” Crowley whispered just before Juliet decided to take the drugs.

“Yes, yes, totally fine,” Aziraphale sniffed and dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief.

“You want to leave?”

“Oh God, yes, please!”

He grabbed the pastries (wouldn’t do to waste perfectly good food just because of a stupid, miserable play) and, to the dismay of the humans seated around them, they hurried out of the theatre. They left just before Romeo discovered Juliet’s lifeless body.

“I really hate that one.” Aziraphale dabbed his eyes again. “I don’t see why a good writer like William Shakespeare would waste his talent on something like that.”

“You could’ve just said no, you know, didn’t have to come.”

Aziraphale decided not to point out that Crowley looked quite miserable, too, and did not ask why he had chosen to see that play in the first place. Instead he said, “Next time we go to the theatre, I pick the play.”

“Fine. As long as it’s not _Winnie-the-Pooh_.”

Aziraphale went on a rant to defend _Winnie-the-Pooh_ and by the time they arrived at the Bentley, he had almost forgotten about the gloominess that was _Romeo and Juliet_.

“Alright.” Crowley hovered in front of the Bentley. “You want to head back or still do something else?”

“Maybe…maybe we could go for a picnic?” Aziraphale kept watching Crowley very closely. He did not want to make him uncomfortable again like with that disastrous suggestion of kissing.

“Uh, sure. St. James’s?”

“I was thinking more about heading out to the countryside.” Aziraphale would prefer some peace and quiet right now. Not the usual busy London places. No humans to worry about. “If – if that was alright with you.”

“You sure?”

“Well, yes, of course. I just suggested it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, you sometimes say one thing and mean something else.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale smiled in regret. It had been their way of communication for more than 6000 years. Saying one thing, meaning another. Over the centuries they had become rather good at navigating the silent conversations that took place simultaneously, had developed their own code. It seemed that that code did not work anymore and that there were new rules now that they were free from their respective head offices. Aziraphale was determined to figure out how this new communication between them worked. He would _make_ it work. “You are right, I did not really want to see _Romeo and Juliet_ ,” he admitted. “But I thought it would be nice to meet up again. And I’d very much like to spend some more time with you aside from that wretched play. We could also go for a stroll at St. James’s or have tea or even go to the movies if you don’t want to go for a picnic. Or just go back to the bookshop or your place to have a drink.”

“Hm, suppose I owe you one for making you sit through that stupid play. A picnic it is then. Where do you want to go?”

“Oh, how about a picnic at the beach?” Aziraphale suggested enthusiastically. The weather was nice enough for early May and he had not been to the seaside for quite some time.

“Okay. Uh. You want me to drive us there?”

“Obviously. How else do you expect me to go there? By public transport?” Aziraphale grimaced in disgust and was relieved to see Crowley grin at that.

The drive to the seaside was relaxing (as far as being driven by Crowley could ever be. To his credit, he did not go over 80mph). They did a bit of small talk to avoid getting hung up in miserable thoughts about _Romeo and Juliet_ , greatly enjoyed the fact that the Bentley was willing to play something else than Queen’s Greatest Hits, and stopped at a little supermarket to get a bit of food and several bottles of red wine for their picnic.

When they arrived at the little beach, the sun was already getting low and it was a bit chilly. Nevertheless, Aziraphale greatly enjoyed their picnic. The wine and cheese were surprisingly good. Maybe it had been a little demonic miracle or maybe it was just that everything tasted perfect when you were having a picnic at sunset with the demon you loved. He did not really mind the wind or the sand that was getting everywhere either. Everything here felt easy, and Aziraphale chuckled fondly when Crowley tried to chase a bunch of seagulls away, who weren’t really bothered by his demonic threats.

“It’s all your fault.” Crowley flopped dramatically down next to Aziraphale. “Feeding a seagull. _Really_ , angel. You should know better.”

“It looked very hungry,” Aziraphale said in apology and smiled down at Crowley. His limbs were spread everywhere, his chest was lifting and falling quickly because he was still out of breath and his sunglasses reflected the clouds of the evening sky. Aziraphale wondered what it would be like to run his hands through Crowley’s hair. He thought he would like that. Or sit a bit closer (after all, it was a bit chilly), their shoulders and thighs touching, maybe even holding hands. That would be nice, too. Or a kiss. Because that was a thing, wasn’t it? When you were drinking red wine at a beach at sunset with the one you loved there was meant to be a kiss, right? But he was not sure anymore if that was something Crowley wanted.

“You alright? Something on your mind?” Crowley put down his sunglasses and squinted up at Aziraphale. Always looking out for him – making sure he was comfortable, getting him his favourite food, chasing away seagulls... Aziraphale swallowed. God, he was so in love.

“Are you happy, my dear?” he asked softly.

“Huh, I – yes?”

“If there’s anything you wanted…,” Aziraphale prompted cautiously.

Crowley scrambled into a more upright position. “More of that wine.”

Aziraphale chuckled awkwardly. “Ah, yes, of course.” He handed the bottle to Crowley. He liked sharing a bottle. It was oddly intimate to put his lips where Crowley’s had been just moments before. He liked the brief, casual touching of fingers when they exchanged the bottle.

Crowley chugged down a large part of the wine. “Why -” He glared at the bottle so hard that the label crumpled in nervousness. “Why would you ever think that I’d – that I’d enjoy… _kissing_ you against your will?”

Aziraphale froze. “What…what do you mean?”

“That’s what you were offering. Wasn’t it?” Crowley finally directed his glare at Aziraphale.

“Er, I, _what_? Who said it was against my will?”

“Oh, come on, you were scared shitless.”

“I really wasn’t.” Aziraphale was a bit affronted because he had felt it had been a rather brave thing to do and now Crowley was belittling him for it.

“You were. You were – were fidgeting like you were talking to Gabriel or the other fuckers.”

Aziraphale huffed in indignation. “I most certainly did not offer Gabriel or any of the other angels to kiss me.”

“Pff. Thank – Someone. My point is, I’m not – I’m – I won’t kiss you. So. You don’t have to be scared.” Crowley glared at the bottle again and it burst in his hand.

_Oh_. Without thinking, Aziraphale cradled Crowley’s hand that was sticky with red wine (and maybe even blood) in his hands. “Crowley, no, I’m not scared of you. _Never_.” He sent a quick healing miracle, just in case. “My dear, please don’t ever think that. And I’m sorry to say so but you are the least scary demon I have ever met.”

Crowley chuckled weakly. “Wow, insulting me now, that’s real low, angel.”

“Ah, well. I suppose you managed to scare the seagulls away. Eventually.”

“God, you’re such a bastard.”

Aziraphale smiled, squeezed his hand and then let go a little regretfully. He found he rather liked touching Crowley like this. But communication first. “Now, you may be right in that I was maybe a little, tiny bit nervous. But I’ll have you know it’s perfectly normal to be nervous before your first kiss.”

“Says who?” Crowley put his sunglasses back on.

“Books.”

“Aaaah.”

“Yes. Basically every love story ever. Well, every love story that features a kiss.”

“There don’t have to be, ah, kisses. This,” Crowley made a vague gesture that encompassed himself, Aziraphale, the beach, the dusky sky, the sea, “is just fine.”

“Are you sure? I’ve made you wait for so long -”

“No, no, no. It’s not – it’s not waiting, like this. It’s… good. Urgh, did I really just say that? I meant – happy. I’m happy. And I’d be happy if it was always like this. You don’t have to do anything.”

Aziraphale inhaled and exhaled slowly. He had never felt so free, so safe in his life. “I love you,” he said and the words came as easily and naturally as the waves rolling constantly onto the beach. He felt tears in his eyes, tears of relief and happiness, and he was glad it was almost dark by now so Crowley hopefully couldn’t see them and worry again.

“Y-Yeah?” Crowley croaked.

“Yes. I do. I absolutely do.” Oh, he had not known how much lighter he would feel when the weight of millennia of fear and guilt lifted from his chest! “I do, my dear,” he repeated, giddy with it that he was finally allowed to let it all out. And then, because he was feeling particularly daring, “I think I would like to try hand holding. What do you think?”

“Nmmm, yeah?”

Aziraphale offered his trembling hand, and just to be perfectly clear, he whispered, “I’m not scared.”

Crowley grabbed his hand and squeezed it so hard that Aziraphale was momentarily worried that he would break his fingers. Very slowly he rubbed little circles with his thumb on the back of Crowley’s hand to make him relax, trying to show him that he would not let go, never again.

No one said a word. They just stared into the dark sea and listened to the crashing of the waves, the cries of the seagulls and to each other’s breathing, which was eventually slowing down. Finally, Crowley’s hand in his unclenched a little. Aziraphale kept caressing circles onto it and savoured every minute. He liked that Crowley’s hand was still sticky with red wine and a little cold. In fact, now that the first excitement of the touch had worn off, Aziraphale noticed how cold it was. It was just spring and neither of them had thought to bring a coat.

“Are you cold?” Crowley asked. “You want to go back?”

“No! Absolutely not! Not cold at all!” Aziraphale said through clattering teeth. “Let’s stay.” He inched infinitesimally closer to Crowley but without actually touching. Huddling for warmth was probably a bit much as they were just figuring out hand holding. Maybe in a few months or years. Or even decades. They had all the time in the world. And hand holding was fine. In fact, it was so fine that Aziraphale never wanted to stop, no matter how much he trembled from the cold.

But then Crowley conjured up a little fire and it wasn’t only cosy and warm but also excitingly romantic. At night at the beach, hand holding in front of a fire! “Oh, that’s lovely,” Aziraphale sighed happily. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Nah. There’s a sign at the entrance of the beach that says that it’s forbidden to make camp fires here.”

“Ah, I see.” He squeezed Crowley’s hand gently. “Should I thwart you then?”

“You can try.”

“Maybe later.”

He did much later, in the next morning when the first humans came to the beach for jogging and walking their dogs. It was time for them to leave and go back to London. Aziraphale’s limbs were cold and stiff when he extinguished the fire, collected the empty wine bottles and leftover food (and he almost had a cramp in his left hand). But he couldn’t have been happier. The Bentley graciously played them piano preludes from Debussy when Crowley drove them almost slowly through the countryside.

They stopped at a little café to warm up with hot drinks. When Aziraphale put his hand on the table, Crowley’s own inched closer until their fingertips touched, like a silent question, and Aziraphale turned his hand open to welcome him.


End file.
